


Burgers and Chocolate Soda

by Diary



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Bechdel Test Fail, Brothers, Canon Queer Character, Cheeseburgers, First Meetings, Holding Hands, Late Night Conversations, Love, POV Male Character, POV Multiple, POV Queer Character, Pre-Season/Series 01, Pre-Slash, Wendimoor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 09:28:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13074006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: A possible look at how Panto and Silas first met. Complete.





	Burgers and Chocolate Soda

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Dirk Gently.

“You fight well,” Panto comments.

The Dengdamor trespasser fights almost strictly defensively rather than offensively, and Panto wonders if he hopes Panto will tire himself out eventually. He won’t, but it’s not an unintelligent strategy on the other’s part.

“Do you seek to attack my family or plunder our resources?”

“No.” Jumping, the Dengdamor catches Panto’s sword between his own and forces it closed.

“Then, why are you here?”

There’s no answer, and Panto kicks the Dengdamor down, jerks, and catches the flying sword with his hand. “You fight well, Dengdamor, but I’m the best fighter in this world.”

“My family’s most trusted warrior, Wygar Oak, is the best in Wendimoor. Are you going to kill me?”

Perhaps, he should, but he’s never liked the fighting between his family and the Dengdamors. His mother was killed by a Dengdamor over drawings on a map, but usually, it’s not Trosts or Dengdamors either who end up dead. It’s servants and peasants who’ve pledged allegiance.

He thinks it’d be far better for everyone if true neutrality could be held; their two families will never have friendship, but he’d give much for peace. Both are wealthy, and both have plentiful land for those serving under them. If they could all learn to tolerate one another, trade might even be possible.

This warrior lying underneath his sword is scared but resigned, and Panto has always hated seeing resigned people die worst of all.

“Please, simply tell me why you are here. There needn’t be bloodshed.”

The Dengdamor scoffs. “I truly wish it were so.”

Panto isn’t particularly surprised when a foot pushes him backwards, and the Dengdamor stands.   

For a long moment, they simply stare at one another.

“I won’t attack an unarmed man.”

“Then, give me my sword back.”

“Silas!”

They both jump, and a young boy appears. “Silas, Wygar’s cold has broken!”

Panto feels his respect for this stranger greatly increase. His father once suffered a cold, and aside from the fear of him dying in horrible agony, he knows some part of Litzibitz has never forgiven him for having her forcibly relocated from their family home until his father completely recovered and healers assured them there was no more threat of contagion. The stranger, he realises, likely hoped to pick from a burger plant for his family’s valued retainer.

Seeing how the Dengdamor is bodily shielding the boy and almost silently but desperately urging him to run, Panto sighs. “Just as I wouldn’t attack an unarmed man, I would never strike down a child. If I return your sword, will you not attack me in front of this young one of your blood?”

“My brother is talented with a sword but has no love for fighting,” the young boy informs him. “Neither do I.”

“Then, we three share that in common. I have a fondness for sparring, but I never like it when I must draw blood and take lives. On my honour as Jeppum Trost’s firstborn son, if you follow me, I’ll soon return your sword.”

 “Okay.” Coming over, the boy offers his hand.

Sheathing his own sword and shifting the other into his non-dominant hand, he clasps his hand around the boy’s before the older Dengdamor can grab his brother.

“Farson!”

Starting to walk, Panto remarks, “A handsome, strong name. Silas, however, is a bit unusual.” Though, it fits the stoic, unconventionally handsome stranger, he’ll privately admit.

“He was named after someone Dirk Gently will know.”

One reason Panto likes talking to children so much is most of them truly believe in the old prophecies. “You believe in Dirk Gently?”

“Mother and Wygar don’t, but I’d like to believe he really will come someday,” Farson answers. “My father did. He’d tell me and Silas all about it when I was barely a tot. We lost him when I was three. Bandits got him.”

“You have my deepest sympathies,” Panto says.

Leading them inside a cave, he studies the burger plants. He’s always had a talent for discerning which contains what, and seeing a particularly ripe one he knows will contain cheese and vegetables with no sauce, he picks it. He wishes he could pick two more, but he knows they'd only go to waste; there's a chance even this one won't go to the Dengamor retainer. “Here, young Farson Dengdamor. Together, you and your brave brother came across a Trost friend, and this friend willingly gave you this to help your valued retainer begin to feel better.”

Bowing, Farson accepts it, and Panto finds Silas studying him intently.

“Don’t teach your brother dishonour.” Panto holds the sword out handles first. “Unfortunately, someday, we might be true enemies. But it doesn’t have to be today.”

Silas takes the sword, sheathes it, and gives a stiff bow. “Farson, come.”

…

“We meet again.”

Silas represses a groan. He’s always been good at going unnoticed when he needs to, but this Trost warrior is clearly an exception. He’d truly hoped the first time had simply been due to carelessness on his part, but tonight, he knows he hasn’t been.

“On my honour as Frija Dengdamor’s firstborn son, I come in peace.”

Nodding, the Trost sheathes his sword. “Is your retainer not fully recovered?”

Perhaps, Panto Trost truly is as good-natured as he presents himself, Silas thinks.

“Wygar is well.” He holds out the jug of chocolate soda he brought. “I meant to deliver this anonymously. I swear on Farson’s life it’s untainted. A fair trade for the burger, I believe.”

Smiling, the Trost accepts it with a friendly bow. “I thank you, but you had no obligation.”

“I know.”

“You’re a quiet one,” Trost comments. “Do you believe in the prophecies?”

“I believe it’s good those such as you and my brother do. I question whether those who lack belief such as my mother are crueller than necessary when it comes to life’s opposition. But whether I truly believe or disbelieve- I can’t say.”

Trost smiles. “I look forward to the day when we might call one another ‘friend’.”

“Such a day will never come.”

It hurts to say it, but he was born only a few years after the world began, and there’s never been any true truce, never mind peace. For Farson’s sake, he wishes such a day would come. His brother deserves such a world, and if he ever has nieces and nephews, he dreads them growing up only to die too young by bandits or Trosts.

The smile falters. “Just as I believe in the prophecies, I believe it will.”

This Trost, so handsome, friendly-witted, and strong, will go far in life, farther than Silas knows he ever will, and there’s a little jealousy, but mostly, he hopes Panto Trost’s faith will one day bring actual peace between their two families. Friendship will never be possible, but one doesn’t have to have genuine affection to forge sincere respect.

Giving a formal bow, Silas turns and leaves.


End file.
